The MuggleBorn
by ritametermaid
Summary: Dudley Dursely has at last attained a certain level of independence from his normal-obsessed parents. Now married with children, he soon finds himself thrusted, full-tilt into a world he thought he would have nothing to do with again.
1. The Marvelous Marriage!

No one was more surprised than Dudley Dursely when he found himself at the altar with a woman he actually loved. He remembered his father's old adages as he stared dazedly at the dark-haired, plump Colette, her features distorted by the white mesh now shielding her face: "Dudley, boy--you'll be wanting a woman who can whip up a proper meal and serve you, your bosses, and your clients like royalty."

"She should have a decent look about her, nothing abnormally attractive or people around you will talk."

"Remember what's important: that she tends house like she gets paid for it."

But long has it been since he'd followed his father's advice to the letter. Since Dedalus Diggle gave him and his parents the clearance to come out of hiding after that psychotic with a wand had finally met his maker, Dudley very much began to follow his own path. He never returned to Smeltings, for one. His father nearly broke his shoulder with the force of his blow following that news. His mother wept in exaggerated sobs as she cried out to the heavens "Why!!"

Dudley was never one for learning. Thick-sculled, it took several turns for anything to penetrate its recesses. While advantageous when a good punch was being aimed at it, he felt his head was good for little else. Through his boxing coach at school, he got into contact with a trainer, and he found himself boxing on the amateur circuit for almost reasonable pay. With it, he was able to uproot from his beginnings in Little Whinging, and move to London, where the majority of his matches were fought. It was after a particularly ugly loss that he'd met her in the sweat-and-blood-stenched venue. The regulars, his "fans," were chucking beer bottles at him, cursing him for being the wrong man to bet on.

"Ya daft pig, you just lost me fifty quid!" a rail-thin man offset by the unusual characteristic of a bloated ponch stepped out from the harrassers and thrust up the end of a jagged bottle into the air. The female bartender, just behind her bar moments ago, now ducked into the crowd and kneed Dudley's attacker squarely in the groin.

"There'll be no murder'n in this here establishment! Get on with ya!" The man was dragged through the bodies by some very brawny customers.

"We've got him, Colette!"

"Thank you, Rolf, thank you!"

She turned on her heal, looking brightly at the bruised and swollen visage of Dudley.

"Say ugly, how's about I give you a drink on the house?"

"No, miss. Don't want ta put ye out . . ." Dudley reddened as he backed away from the pretty little woman.

"Listen. You can buy me one some other time. Fair?"

And so, with all the affection he had on that first night in the disgusting ring, he pronounced the words with husky clarity.

"I do."

"And do you, Colette, take Dudley to be your lawfully-wedded husband?" said the stout preacher with a floppy comb-over.

"As long as he stays out of the ring, I do."

And Dudley, so consumed by the shining face of his beloved Colette, hardly saw the lanky black-haired man be the first to stand and lead the hesitant procession into a standing ovation. Dudley's mother remained seated, shooting a sour-look over her shoulder at the man and muttered, "This is the worst mistake of Diddykin's life. No wonder Harry's causing a scene. Probably enjoying every second of our humiliation!!" His father sat beside her, patting her boney arm in comfort. "Nothing doing now. The world's gone to hell."

Oblivious to all of this, he bent low and kissed the soft lips of his new bride.


	2. All's Well Among Muggles

"And there's me mum, sneering away!" Dudley flipped another page of the scrapbook, urgent to pass his mother's beaked face.

"Hmm." Colette murmured from the armrest beside him. She uttered nothing more as she examined the fringe on the window curtain.

"Ah, Piers. Before we all found out he was fruitier than a bowl of punch." Dudley indicated the photo of his Best Man.

"Hah! I knew it the second I set eyes on him! Honestly Dudley, you've got no awareness of these kinds of things."

"Yeah, well . . ." Dudley knew only how true that was. While attending Smeltings, he never suspected Piers' regular visits to Bowagard Goodwin's dormitory.

Dudley turned another page hastily, getting off the subject of others' personal lives.

The first dance photo was stuck to the next page. Only, there was something in the background he had not noticed before. Black hair, inexpertly combed to the side, poked out from behind the forms of Dudley and Colette, lumbering their way across the floor.

"Isn't that the man who sends those interesting cards at Christmas?"

"Me cousin, yeah."

"He seemed such a lovely man. I wonder why we hardly hear from him. Weren't you raised together like brothers?" Colette fell silent as he thought; a task that can prove arduous for Dudley at times.

"We were raised together, yeah. Not like brothers, though."

Colette nodded knowledgably.

"Did you not get along?"

Dudley remembered well how he bullied Harry, nearly to the point where he broke him. Harry did not fight back; he held no hope of ever winning. His only chance was to run, or to remain silent and take his blows. Dudley was unaware at the time of how Harry could vanish mysteriously, or why his parents punished him so for it. But it was his family's way to hate Harry for no particular reason, other than that he was an intrusive outsider from unworthy stock. The Dursleys spouted this as fact, and never allowed either of the boys to forget it.

"My parents did whatever I asked. Whatever ruddy thing--I could have. The only thing they didn't do for me was toss out Harry. I made him pay for it every day until he was eleven."

Colette gasped. Dudley's guilt squirmed inside of him with his half-digested sausage. He felt uglier than ever beside her as she looked at him with a new, dubious gaze.

"Why did you hate him so much?"

"Don't much know. I only knew that my parents did. They thought he was trash, you see. My mother hated her sister; sounded more jealous of her, if you ask me. Treated me like a God next to him, so I started thinking of meself as one."

Colette's nose flared in disgust. Her fingers twitched as if activated to strangle the next neck within their reach.

"I always knew there was something wrong with your parents. To think your father tried to pay me to skip town before our wedding! 'This is what your sort's after, isn't it? Take the money and leave the boy be.' I will never forget it. But to think they would abuse children so . . .to pit cousin against cousin!"

In the kitchen, a pair of water glasses rolled off of the table and shattered into jagged crystals on the tile below them. Dudley, sensitive to loud sounds, dropped the album to the floor.

"What in the blazes!"

Colette, poised and collected, was on her feet in a moment, her protruding belly only slightly detracted from her balance.

"Dana! Are you causing mayhem again?" She called up the stairs.

"I'm here, Mummy!" The four-year-old blonde girl was at their side, having just entered from the hall. "I did'n do that. I was play'n with Eliza." She held up the lame turtle in her pink little hands. Eliza looked disinterestedly at the alarmed party.

"What could have done . . . they just fell on their own somehow." Colette moved to the kitchen, assessing the damage. "You don't expect a pregnant woman to clean this up, do you?" She snapped at Dudley, who stood disturbingly still in the entryway.

"Oh, dear." Dudley ran a hand over his backside, hardly knowing what to do next.


	3. A Most Interesting Occurence

**Disclaimer: I sort of go backwards. I actually had to do a bit of research, as I'm not British, and needed to figure out a Britishy-sounding place for Dudley to live, with a reachable distance to London and Kings Cross Station.**

The house on Upper Lattimore Road in Saint Albans, Hertfordshire, was mostly bought and paid for by Colette Bottlesworth Dursley's parents. Much like their daughter, they were round, good-hearted, and of open natures. They were certainly like none Dudley had known in Little Whinging, for there, gossip and competition reinforced barriers among neighbors, isolating their little secrets, and maintaining the illusion of absolute mundanity.

Dudley vowed to repay them every bit, until his business aspirations could be realized. Before Colette, much of his money was blown on an over-priced flat, a brand-new car, and gleaming electronic gadgets he had no use for. After Colette, his entire world had changed. If having her meant parting himself from the vestiges of Old Dudley, then so be it. He had long lost any pleasure he gained from such things when he found himself desperately alone. The only one among his friends not in University, the name 'Big D' failed to tout the dread it once had among the professional heavy-weights he was then surrounded by. Like said heavy-weights, Colette cast a bland eye on him and his possessions, her affections waning like so much whiskey out of Dudley's bottle.

One day, after sifting through empty take-out boxes in search of the remote to Dudley's plasma screen, she tossed her hands in the air, defeated by filth.

"We can't afford a life together if you continue to spend money like a child. I think it's time you did some maturing." And with that, she was gone. It hardly took a fortnight for Dudley to plot out his next course of action.

He kept in contact with his old childhood friend Piers, who had just finished University and was thankfully still a bachelor. Piers thought it a fetching idea to move into a modest two bedroom flat on the dodgy end of London with him. The non-broken and non-lost items of excess were pawned off, but he retained his car. His father always told him that the car made the man. He took on more matches, became something of a local celebrity, and saved what he could to realize his dreams. The first of which being wedded bliss with one Colette. The second being a butcher shop, where his love of food and violence could be gracefully employed into one noble skill. The property was payed for, along with the equipment, counters, and the certification classes, of course. Shortly afterwards, Colette arrived through the doors of his new establishment and agreed to set the date.

Thus did true love bloom over flank steak.

Though nearly destitute, Dudley's business flourished. If not for the birth of Dana, The Bottlesworths would have been compensated in full for their home. And then they had little Dale four years later, which set them further back. The Bottlesworths thought of their grandchildren as compensation enough, and quite forgot about the debt. Dudley however, always so used to taking and having, could not bring himself to do so with the Bottlesworths. He learned many years ago that to abuse the charity of the Kind meant a lifetime of regret for him. If it wasn't for the kindness of a certain cousin, he would be nothing. A body that only caged an empty heart; one that had never been used to love. He considered the many ways he might repay Harry, but the act could not be matched.

The house on Upper Lattimore Road was indisputably lived-in. Dudley, who failed to inherit his mother's incessant cleanliness, never noticed when the house fell into disarray. Colette did all she could, but Dana and Dale proved to be little tornadoes; anything that stood erect would soon be lying prone after one or both had passed it. Many children's books were scattered around the once "good living-room" floor. The "family room" was more of a travesty, with unwashable pen markings in some kind of runes looped along the pale blue walls, stuffing protruding out of cushions, and teen magazines as the only available reading material on their coffee table. Dale's disregard for order was legend. At only four feet tall, and weighing the same as a loaf of bread (a particularly dense loaf that only Colette could bake), a room could be left in chaos with his only passing through it.

Upon finding her new jumper in tatters, Dana thundered noisily as only an embittered teenager can.

"What in the bloody hell did you do!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"I haven't been in your room, you banshee!" Cried Dale, his green eyes flashing a warning.

"My new jumper with the v-neck! I was going to wear it to Jeanette's!"

"That jumper's so tarty, it probably came like that!" Then a scuffle commenced. The thunder rolled above the kitchen, jostling the light fixtures. Dudley, still in a bloodied smock, put down his paper and shook his head exasperatedly. Colette tasted the tomato sauce simmering on the stove. "It needs oregano." She followed this with, "We're sending you to live with grandma and grandpa Dursley!" The fighting abated marginally, only cuss words were being loudly hurled back and forth.

"I'll put an end to it!" Dudley harrumphed.

"Thank you, darling. And tell them to wash their filthy little hands for dinner."

"Will do." Blood-covered and all, he set out to intimidate his children.

"What's all this about!" He shouted. Dana, splotchy and venomous, breathed heavily on the floor. Dale, red and near tears, puffed out his lips beside her.

"Daddy, he ruined my--"

"Jumper, yes, I heard all about it!" Dudley interrupted.

"No I didn't! I wasn't even in your room!"

"You did! You're always doing weird things. He should be in Saint Brutus's!"

"Not another word out of either of you! Dana, you had no business buyin' that _thing_ without your mother's permission! Your blasted cat's been tearing up furniture again, so I'd say he's the likely culprit."

Dana, in all her adolescent anguish, fell into sobs, the unfairness choking her ability to speak proper English.

"Yaawaeestakeissiiiiiiide!"

"Quiet that nonsense and stop your fighting! If we didn't love you, we wouldn'ta bothered keepin' you. Now start getting along, or we'll rethink our decision!" Dudley shook the room with his steps and slammed the door in his wake. At the landing, he remembered the message he needed to relay.

"And wash your hands! We're havin' dinner!" Dale slid out of Dana's room, wiping a few escaped tears on the back of his hand.

"Dale, Dale, Dale." Dudley mussed his dark curly hair, so much like his mother's.

"Dad, I think Dana hates me." He pressed his little head into Dudley's squishy belly.

"Don't be daft, boy. Of course she doesn't hate you. She's just going through one of them feminine things, and once she grows up a little, she'll be great pals with you like she used to be."

Egbert the cat rubbed its side against Dale's shins, then pawed at Dana's door for entrance. He was given quiet admittance, and the door was returned to its frame.

"I didn't do it, Dad. Really, I didn't! But you know what?" He whispered conspiratorially.

"What's that?" Dudley bent down on his knee to properly listen.

"I thought about doing exactly that. When you made her take me to the shop, I saw her try it on. You can see her _knockers._ The man folding shirts was looking at them! I hated that shirt so much; I just wanted to tear it to pieces!"

Dudley hadn't realized that he stopped breathing.

"Dad, you're turning purple." Dale observed, tilting his head to the side. Dudley inhaled a massive breath of air, then coughed, his years of cigarette smoking, back to haunt him.

"Right, well, these things happen." Dudley said, lamely. Dale looked on, confused.

"No they don't. Well, they always happen to me, seems like." His face drooped.

"Well, you might take after some of my relatives, but you're just as normal a boy as any!" He laughed, patting him on the back. _A few tricks here and there, doesn't mean he'll turn the house into a giant balloon one day._ He reassured himself. _It's bound to get into the genes a little; it don't mean nothin'._

Dale brightened, and happily descended the stairs. His hands remained unwashed.

"Don't mean nothin'." He said aloud, readying himself to invade his daughter's sanctuary.


	4. Harry Gets a Ring

**12/12: I've had some free weekends, leaving me time for this fanfic! Hope you enjoy the newest chapter. I might write a shorter one tomorrow.**

_It's bound to get into the genes a little; it don't mean nothin'._

Dudley drilled the words into his head, refusing to believe in anything else. He would _not_ lose his son to that old insanity. He refused to sit by and expose his son to dangerous magical beings that could torture him, murder him, and worse yet, steal his soul; all as swiftly as blinking. His innards turned cold as the blood froze in his veins. He would not have that; no he would not.

Harry once told him about these people called squibs. Though they were born into wizarding households, they were ill-equipped to perform magic. There was a hitch; they were capable of some very trite displays, for it was simply in their blood to possess them. He decided that _this _was what Dale exhibited, and nothing more. What is a torn jumper when you think about it? And so what if glass shatters occasionally when he's in a temper? He had seen wizards deal more devastating blows than that. A man of giant proportions once gave him a pig's tale. He's wittnessed his Aunt Marge expand with hot air and float to the ceiling, all for crossing Harry. He stood in awe as a red-haired family dressed in cloaks blasted out of his father's fireplace. And didn't he have the presence of mind to see that white mist in the shape of some sort of animal, shielding him from the worst sort of fate?

When you've grown up with Harry Potter, it's hard to be impressed when a little boy inexplicably covers the loo in shaving foam while your back is turned.

The danger of Dudley's remembrances is this: he only knows the might of trained or in-training wizards. He does not have his mother's memory of how Harry once shrunk a sweater before her very eyes. He had a vague imagining of Harry with a disastrous haircut, but when he came upon Harry the following day, his mop had returned to its original length. His mother insisted upon Dudley's vision being a dream, and Time did further taint his original recollection. The things Harry did were bewildering and frightening—he did not realize how mundane and harmless his cousin's initial magical responses were.

That Dale could display such willful power, and without a drop of training—indeed, that was something.

He considered phoning Harry; something he so rarely did, being from two different worlds and sharing such a sordid past.

He could call Harry. He even enclosed his mobile number in the last Christmas card.

_This little muggle innovation is far __handier __than sending patronuses back and forth. It certainly gets fewer looks when you're out-and-about in London._

He could call him directly, without the inconvenience of his wife or children picking up. He could, but he knew what he'd likely say.

"Well, Dudders, sounds like you've got a wizard on your hands."

He was yet prepared for _that_ kind of truth.

It was best to see how it all panned out before jumping to any conclusions. Dale was _Dale._ Clumsy, grimy, and even a target of bullies; how could he be a wizard? How many times has Dana had to fight his battles?

But if there was one thing he remembered correctly, it was that there was no better bully-bate than Harry James Potter.

He gave every appearance of being weak. Frail, bespeckled, and wearing Dudley's rubbish clothes, he was ripe for derision. But Harry was not weak, in fact, he was clever and fast, which did enough to confound Dudley without the use of a spell.

Dudley laughed humorlessly at how this once infuriated him so. How well Harry could spar with only his wit, or speed away out of the reach of Dudley's meaty fists. He was an expert escapist. Dale was sharp as well, and he often antagonized the large and slow-witted. As Dudley was once arrogant with his size and strength, so was Dale arrogant with his intellect and craftiness. Oh, how _alike_ he and Harry were. Why had he never noticed it before?

_No, no. Doesn't do to start thinking about that. There is time to think this over. There is_ time. _Harry didn't get his letter 'til he was eleven. Dale's only_ . . .

Eleven. He turned eleven last April. How could he have forgotten? Why did he consider Dale just fresh out of preschool?

_Well, Dale isn't due for Sandringham School for another . . ._

Three months. It was the summer!

He scoped out the area around the family room. Sure that it was clear, Dudley for the first time ever, shut the doors. He nearly tripped over his swollen feet to arrive at the couch. He pulled the mobile from his pocket and found Harry's saved number.

_I'll only ask him how his kids are doing at Hogwarts . . . it'll be a polite conversation. I just need to know the day when those blasted owls come._

He hesitated no longer. The phone dialed the number. There were several rings until finally; they stopped at the sound of Harry's voice.

"_Hello. If you're hearing this, it means I am indisposed in the magical world and therefore, unable to pick up a signal. You can reach me at my enchanted land-line, or by patronus or floo powder."_

A beep sounded, and Dudley spluttered.

"H-h-h'lo, Harry! It's your cousin Dudley, here. Didn't get much of that rubbish you were on about, but I'll try you at home. Just calling to see how goes it, and I thought I'd ask you over for dinner one of these nights. It's been what, thirteen years since we last got the families together? Now's as good a time as any--" A second beep had cut his rambling short. He had no intention of inviting the Potters over; it spilled out in his search for an excuse to call. Dudley then abandoned a fresh attempt at reaching Harry. If he was lucky, it would be a very long time before Harry would discover that he had a message. How often did he venture outside of his wizarding community? Dudley didn't presume it was often.

But as head of the Auror department, Harry had a lot of dealings with the Muggle world. He had just gotten done with obliviating the memories of an entire secondary school when a vibration indicated a new message on his phone. Harry stowed his wand up his sleeve, and sat on an empty bench. He called his voice mail and came upon the message from Dudley, moments after he had left it.

"What in Barnabas the Barmy's sock drawer is Dudley on about?"

And Harry, whose keen sense had detected something gone amiss, dialed up his cousin for the first time in several years.


	5. Making Plans

**12/13: As promised, I'm writing a shorter chapter today! After this, it's highly unlikely I will update regularly--I mentioned in my profile that I'm working on my own project. Enjoy the fresh chapters while you can. A lot of people put up disclaimers stating they don't own any Harry Potter characters. Has anyone ever come on to this site and been mistaken? **_**Ooooh, that girl's got quite the imagination to've come up with that Harry Potter chappy.**_** While I am secretly in love with him, I do not own Harry Potter or anything that pertains to his world.**

"Dudley, is there something wrong?" Harry greeted the moment he heard the croaky voice on the other end.

"Harry? How'd you get my message?" Dudley had been nearly convinced that it'd be ages before Harry checked his mobile. Why use a phone when you can appear before people in an instant?

Harry was fairly accustomed to Dudley's displays of dimwittedness. He once antagonized him mercilessly for it, but as a man, he knew better patience.

"My God Dudley, how many mobiles have you had? After that beeping noise, you left a message, and it was recorded for me to hear later--"

"I ruddy-well know how to use a phone! I'm talking about your magic making electronics go all wonky!"

"Huh." Harry sounded impressed. "I'm surprised you remembered that. I was doing a bit of work among muggles today. Electronics don't work properly when there's an overabundance of magic, and there was only myself and another wizard on duty."

"Right. I see. Well, thanks for callin'." Dudley was poised to hang up.

"The thing is, _you_ called _me, _remember? It almost sounds like you want to take back your invitation . . ." Harry trailed off with his implication.

"No, it's not that . . . well with your kids not being able to control their magic and all . . . my family isn't supposed to know about you lot . . . I just wanted to have a word, is all."

"Nearly all of my children are in school, save Lily, and she hasn't done anything too suspicious. Just the other day she did the most amusing thing with my shaving foam--"

Goosebumps erupted along his arms.

"That sounds real precious, Harry. So did they already get their letters for the coming term?" He attempted nonchalance, glad that Harry provided him with some kind of an opening.

"Oh, no, not yet. The summer is still young. Your youngest will be starting high school, won't he?"

_Blast. I'll have to keep a look-out for owls. Yes, if all goes according to plan, Dale'll be the happiest damn "muggle" there ever was. If not . . ._

"Yes, that's what we're getting ready for, anyway." He immediately saw the stupidity in his remark.

"Anticipating a change of direction for him? You're not considering putting him into Smeltings, are you?"

"Nah. He'd knock himself unconscious with the Smeltings stick first day. We've looked into a few of those clever children's schools. I suppose it'd be too late to hear from them now."

"You never do know. Those letters can make quite unexpected appearances." Harry reminisced, intending to make Dudley laugh. Dudley apparently did not get the joke.

"Right, well, Colette's calling. Must be off."

"Do you want us over for dinner or not?" Snapped Harry.

"Sorry, yeah. Colette would love to have you over. What night's good for ye?" To back out of the invitation now would be particularly rude . . . something his father would do. And it had been some time since he'd last seen his cousin. He was plenty curious how his children must look.

Harry paused. "Hmmm." Dudley heard a woman's shrill voice in the background, "_Don't miss the date or you'll anger your mate!_"

"Next Friday good for the Dursleys?"

"Next Friday it is." Dudley agreed, hardly knowing if it was a good day or not.

"Brilliant. I'll let Ginny and the kids know. Give my best to Colette, for me."

"And mine to Ginny." The last time he saw the lovely red-head, she was eight months pregnant. He would have to keep her away from his fireplace.

They clicked off at the same time. Dudley at last opened the doors to the living room.

"Colette! We'll be expecting company!"


	6. A Messy House

Colette lived for company. Human beings to her were bewildering, awe-inspiring, magnificent creatures that demanded careful eyes and an open mind. Because of this, new species of animals never interested her. Why should they, when humans proved just as mystifying as ever? She loved knowing people; their every thought, hope, and the contents of their hearts. To her, strangers were missed opportunities, and nothing else gnawed at her like an intangible dream the way the Potters had.

Colette could be found in any one of the rooms of their house, cleaning grime that had been in residence since Dana was nothing more than a fetus. Wearing over-sized, non-malleable rubber gloves and Dudley's old boxing jersey from Smeltings, she combated the mess with no cooperation from the rest of her family.

"Mum, these people aren't going to want a tour of my closet, are they?" groaned Dale as he hitched up the debris that his mother was throwing pell-mell from his closet floor.

"It's best to air on the side of caution dear. Now hang your things up or dump them in a rubbish bin for all I care—I just want to see them gone!"

Dale trudged over to his closet and performed his task inexpertly, bleating complaints all the while.

"I don't see Dana doing any cleaning. I haven't seen Dana at all today, come to think of it."

"Your sister is our responsibility. Just you worry about yourself." Demanded the spent Colette, her aching limbs longing for a soak in the bath. She saw the truth in what Dale had said, however, and decided to have a look in on Dana. She found her in her room, leaning over her unmade bed to grab up a small leather purse.

"And where do you think you're off to, miss? Your cousins will be arriving shortly!"

Dana's face drained of blood.

"I better get going then!" She attempted to push past her mother, but she bounced off of the solid woman in her doorway.

"You best stay right here! You're not still raving about little James, are you?" Colette remembered that one occasion when they attended the Potters' baby shower, held at a restaurant function room in London. Dale was being babysat by his grandparents, on account of his being a fussy two-year-old. Dana was a mature six, and relished the opportunity to wear a new party dress. James and Dana instantly got on, and took off together to the furthest corner of the room. Sometime later, Dana reappeared, trembling beneath their table. Dana refused to say what the matter was, but she would not speak to James again, despite his efforts. The poor boy looked terribly stricken, and his parents were equally grave and apologetic, though Colette couldn't imagine what for. She had wondered, many a time, if the children's spat was the reason why the two families had never visited again.

"You don't understand! There's something _weird_ about that lot. Would it be so bad if I went over to Leslie's until they left?" Her eyes were shining with genuine fear.

"What happened that day?" Colette walked over to her daughter, now equal to her in height. She held her forearms, surprised by the goosebumps she found.

"There were balloons, everywhere. I don't know how he did it, but he told me . . . he told me he was going to. Then it happened, just like he said. He stared at that balloon until it popped! Then another one, then another one! All I could think to do was run!" She sounded confused. "I remember it being scarier than it sounds, but he knew what he was doing." Colette patted her back soothingly.

"Boys will always try to scare girls at that age! It was very long ago, dear. You can't possibly be remembering correctly."

"Can't I just go mum?" She mumbled against Colette's shoulder.

"No. You will stay, and be perfectly civilized to James. Enough of this 'weird' business. I can't get through one day without you calling your brother the very same."

Dana pouted, foisting the purse from her. It tumbled back onto the bed.

"Now fix up that bed, and get those clothes off of your desk. They'll be--" A clear tune carried up from the stairs. "Oh my, they're already here!"

Colette ran full-tilt to her own room.

"Dudley, let them in! I'm not decent!" But when she reached the room, there lied Dudley, sprawled out in nothing but his pants, watching the flat screen.

"Get some clothes on, blast you!" Colette hollered from the door frame. "Dale, can you get the door, dear?" Tell them I'll be there in a moment!"

"Is it seven already?" Muttered Dudley as he stepped into his trousers. Colette looked to the bedside clock. It was.

"How did we get so out of order?" Colette threw the jersey to the floor, bedroom cleanliness no longer a concern of hers. The bell rang for the third time.

"Mum, why can't Dana get the door?" Dale managed to utter before his eyes fell on the half-nude bodies of both his parents. "Gah!!" Dale shielded them before blindness could set in. The door slammed just then, giving everyone a jump. Dale had no time to puzzle; the doorbell had rung a fourth time. Colette, on the other hand, could not fathom how the door slammed, when her son's hands were preoccupied with covering his face.

Dale slid across the hardwood floor, tumbling against the front door. He twisted the knob with some effort, and yanked the door free. Before him stood five familiar faces, all of which were in varying states of confusion and annoyance.

"H'lo." Said Dale, cheerily. "Come on in." And the Potters did just that.


End file.
